


The Empire

by TheRoarOfAtlas



Series: Tales Of Suplex City [2]
Category: Professional Wrestling, World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Porn with too much plot, Wrestle AU: Suplex City, cameos cameos everywhere, happy birthday to me and happy thirst day to you!, thirst party saturday, this got so long
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-25
Updated: 2017-02-25
Packaged: 2018-09-26 22:48:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,052
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9927572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheRoarOfAtlas/pseuds/TheRoarOfAtlas
Summary: The brave, strong return to the City That Shows No Mercy! Our second tale set in Suplex City. [Alternate Universe]Enjoy![x-posted to Tumblr]





	

“ _The Shield!_ ” Seth had said excitedly, of course he was excited. His daddy's money knew no end. He was one of the lucky ones, having been scooped up from an orphanage early on and groomed for greatness. “ _We'll dispense justice and shit like that, it'll be totally badass!_ ”

 

Who _wouldn't_ have been on board with that idea? Every kid dreamed about being a superhero, about wearing Kevlar and being so goddamn special that nothing could touch you. And in this city, the idea of being a deliverer of justice that wasn't as corrupt as the day was long was tantalizing all on its own.

 

_The Shield_.

 

It was perfect for a while. Roman felt like they were _actually_ helping, the grateful looks on the faces of people they assisted more than enough for a couple of former gutter kids like he and Ambrose. They may not have superpowers, sure, but hard fists, quick kicks and Dean's motor-mouth were more than enough for them to deal with numerous Acolytes, so many members of the Family.

 

Seth wanted more though, not content with the offerings of thank-yous. He began calling for more aggressive patrols, more thorough sweeps. He wanted _attention_. Dean was ready for that, obviously, born and bred to fight was Dean Ambrose. Roman was the most cautious of the three of them and the idea of _looking_ for trouble instead of just trying to prevent it made him uneasy.

 

Rollins was the first one to get hurt, of course. An Acolyte caught him across the back of his knee with a knife and he'd panicked, thrashing and making the wound a thousand times worse before Roman could knock the guy out. Old Mick Foley (who lived at the soup kitchen) had hollered at them from his doorstep, ushering the three men into his dingy quarters behind the kitchen.

 

“ _I see you boys out there almost every night, doing a real good job of keeping folks safe._ ” He'd said kindly as he patched up Seth's leg with tiny, expertly-placed stitches. “ _Just make sure you don't bite off more than you can chew, okay?_ ” Roman implored Seth with his eyes to just shut the fuck up and be polite _for_ _once in your life, Rollins_ as Ambrose cracked his skull against Mick's in a fond gesture. Dean had always had an odd kinship with the mysterious older man, Mick returning the forehead bash after a moment. “ _Ambrose, I should have known it was you under that mask. God only knows who_ _you_ _other guys_ _are, but you're making me proud keeping the Acolytes and Wyatts humble. It's dangerous work_.”

 

Mick said things sometimes, back when Dean and Roman were nothing but scrappy teenagers picking up a hot meal at the soup kitchen. Things that got Roman thinking. One time Mick was just rattling on about the Underground, like how he had firsthand experience in dealing with the Deadman ( _yeah yeah, sure, crazy old Mick_ ) and Roman had watched as Mick tugged his shaggy hair to the side for the first time and started nervously fidgeting with where his right ear _had_ been. Roman _also_ heard things on the streets and in the shelters. Things like that the fearsome creature Mankind was missing an ear and had lost it in a brutal brawl when another almost _mythological_ level individual, Big Van Vader, had gone toe-to-toe with the maniac man of the Underground.

 

Roman never asked, but if he viewed Mick with a little more wary respect...well, it was probably for the best anyway, the guy fed a lot of people with his soup kitchen. A soup kitchen rumored to be kept afloat with warring donations from Seth's adoptive father Mr. Helmsley and the shadowy Undertaker, but one couldn't be too picky in the City That Showed No Mercy.

 

Seth's recovery period was longer than he would have liked. Roman figured that with the self-proclaimed brains of their outfit laid up, maybe they should tuck away their capes. At least for the time being. Dean kept his ears open for trouble but followed Roman's lead of laying low.

 

Reigns was eternally grateful for the shrewd business mind he had inherited from his long-gone father, investments of every penny tidily made years in advance for when he would be grown and wanting a little more out of life than a tiny apartment. The purchase of the old Kliq night club was a strategic move. The strip it was on was bustling by all accounts, properties being scooped up by the Triple H Corporation like hot cakes.

 

The club wasn't much to look at, bearing the same worn appearance as most of the battered buildings in Suplex City. But Roman knew deep down that with time and care, it could shine again. It had been a real hotspot back in its heyday. Roman could just _barely_ remember how fancy the gold gilding and red paint used to be; the place had closed down when he was around eleven years old. Bankruptcy had a way of striking in the city when you least expected it, he guessed, especially if you weren’t paying attention.

 

His paint swatches and floor plans were put on the back burner when Seth made his triumphant solo return, exposing a coven of Family members that had been ritually torturing numerous members of the abundant homeless population. Dean was just happy to have an excuse to lace his ass kicking boots back up. Roman privately thought that something was wrong with Rollins. If he'd been aggressive before, now he was a goddamn man possessed. Always on the move, swinging from the rooftops dusk to dawn in shiny new gear with Dean and Roman trailing further and further behind. The time off had been hard on him, Roman supposed.

 

Seth should have known better than to try and fuck with the Family so boldly. Being the adopted heir of the Triple H Corporation had always come with boundaries that shouldn’t be crossed, for his own health. Rollins always griped about the ‘leash’ Stephanie and Hunter kept him on. But as much as he hated it, as much as he railed against it, it was still a leash that kept him safe. He didn’t seem to understand that Roman and Dean didn't have such luxurious ties, and one night Dean didn't show up.

 

The amount of sleep and blood Roman lost searching for Dean almost did him in; he woke up at Mick's battered and frantic and the older man had shoved him to lay back down. “ _We need to find Ambrose!_ ” Roman's hand pressed to his poorly-bandaged ribs. He hadn't had time to stop when one of the Family came at him with their lantern, glass, metal and oil shattering across his side with a loud, hot explosion. He'd just torn his patchy velcro apart, mopped at the blood and clumsily pulled a chunk of his undershirt over the wounded area, zipped back up and kept moving forward through the dark. He didn't even remember it hurting, too scared and furious to care.

 

Mick gave him a sad look and Roman's throat closed up. _No, no, please-_ -

 

The older man had refrained from speaking while he helped clean Roman's side. “ _I can guess where Dean is._ ” He said finally. Roman's heart sank as Mick started rubbing over his ear.

 

Roman took the brunt of the beatings for their little Underground excursions ever since they’d lost Dean and the song and dance got a bit fucking tiring. Rollins didn't even seem to _care_ that Dean was gone, too interested in his own game of superhero to bother looking for clues whenever they ventured below the streets of the city. Roman always returned with a few more tunnels mapped, a few more ways to figure out the labyrinth and a few more bruises, but Seth couldn’t seem to be fucked beyond the first couple feet of whichever manhole cover they’d disrupted.

 

Brief hope came in the screaming, barely human individual that Owens Powerbombed into unconsciousness in the alley behind the Brogue Kick Saloon. He was thin, so thin, reddish-blond hair sparsely peppering his body and covering his face. In his first brief moments of clarity, he would cry and tell them his name was Zayn, that he'd come here looking for a better life but he'd gotten so lost.

 

Kevin Owens was much more patient than he'd let on, and apparently a huge softie when it came to strawberry blond guys who could use some meat on their bones.

 

Sami Zayn, the fabled Underdog Of The Underground (and didn't _that_ throw Roman for a loop that this scrawny guy was _the_ Underdog), slowly regained most of his humanity, able to have halting conversations with Roman and Kevin about what had happened to him. He offered no insight on Dean, but he painted a picture of the Underground that was startlingly different from what everyone had thought.

 

“ _They fight for sport down there. The whole place is like a gladiator pit. They fight for_ _ **Him**_.” Sami spoke slowly, so slowly. “ _Even if they think they're free to do as they please, everyone fights for_ _ **Him**_.” His hands shook. “ _The Demon Balor, Viper, Beast, Empress. Owned by the Family, but they're all_ _ **His**_ _._ ” The Deadman's grip was apparently absolute, and heaven help you if you fell out of his good graces.

 

...

 

Roman had gone to Hustle as a last resort and his desperation almost did him in. The hunt for Ambrose was ended by The Beast's fists and The Viper's deadly strikes.

 

When exactly Dean had resurfaced, Roman wasn’t sure. He still remembered the call he got from the frantic O’Shaunessy in the wee hours of the morning, the debilitating guilt that he felt because he’d traded Dean’s life for his own. Heyman drove a hard bargain.

 

“ _I know ya’ ran t’gether, I need ya’ to calm his arse down_.” Sheamus sounded distraught, the unfamiliar accent thick over the phone. “ _I dinnae wanna’ bother ya’, Reigns, but he’s in a damn bind here hollerin’ abou’ ye an’ Rollins_. _Rollins dinnae answer_.”

 

Ambrose was halfway out of his mind but he still recognized Roman, though not how Reigns or O’Shaunessy wanted. Dean was _furious_ , screaming brokenly at the large man who was all but frozen in the doorway, “ _you didn’t help! You left me down there to fucking_ _ **die!**_ ” Ambrose flew into a frothing rage at the sight of Roman and Sheamus only barely managed to snag him around the waist before he was snapping his teeth in Reigns’ face. “ _You and Rollins, you fucking piece of shit! I expected it from the rich boy, but not_ _ **you**_ _, we were_ _ **brothers**_ _, dammit!_ ”

 

Sheamus didn’t know what had happened between them, and he didn’t need to. Once the large redhead had Dean essentially restrained Roman took a cautious step forward and cupped Ambrose’s face. Dean’s teeth clicked together as he tried to bite Roman’s fingers but Roman ignored the attempt, pressing his forehead to Dean’s. Like he used to do before, when Rollins was tearing off ahead of them and Dean was still trying to catch his breath.

 

“ _Ambrose, Christ_.”

 

Dean stopped struggling for a second. Jerked around and then paused again, eyes half-closed while Roman murmured to him. “ _I c-can’t…Ro, please, m’sorry, make it stop…_ ” He groaned.

 

“ _No Ambrose, you’re right. You’re right. I gave up. I failed you. I didn’t think I would ever see you again. Rollins…I don’t know what happened_.” Roman shook his head. “ _It was like he didn’t even give a shit. I went down alone so many times, followed so many leads. I even went to Heyman, but I couldn’t…I’m so sorry, Dean_.”

 

“ _R-Roman…_ ” Dean had _never_ said his name like that, almost a sob. Sheamus relaxed his grip a fraction and then Dean was lunging, yelling nonsense words and clawing at Roman wildly.

 

Roman hated the sympathy in Sheamus’ eyes when he’d left once Dean had cried himself out, the hand that the red-haired man rested on his shoulder feeling too heavy. But he hated _himself_ far more. Dean was right, he _had_ abandoned him to the bloodbath of the Underground. Sure, they could blame Rollins until the cows came home, but the fact of the matter was that Reigns had _given up_. His life had been threatened and he’d bitched out. He could have done more. He should have tried harder, pushed further, taken more abuse.

 

Maybe he could have saved his brother.

 

…

 

The years went by and The Empire opened to the public, Kevin proposing to Sami in a shocking moment right after Roman had cut the stereotypical ribbon. Sheamus had toasted the soon-to-be-married couple with Ambrose’s hand in his own. Roman was intensely grateful for Sheamus’ dedication to Dean, feeling the guilt in his chest ease off a little every time he saw Dean smile up at the redhead.

 

He and Ambrose never made up officially. But one night when Roman had visited the Saloon to warn them that the Acolytes had started moving more aggressively, Dean dragged him in for a quick headbutt at the door. That was it, but Roman decided it was far more than he deserved. Ambrose didn’t have to know about what he had done. Shit, Owens and Zayn were the only ones who knew the full story and they weren't exactly a talkative duo. Roman didn’t think he would be able to handle Dean being that infuriated with him again, “ _you didn’t help! You left me down there to fucking_ _ **die!**_ ” so he kept it to himself.

 

Rollins stopped communicating with him altogether. Probably for the best, he and Roman had an ugly falling out over Dean and Roman had come scarily close to strangling his former brother.

 

“ _He’s always been a few sandwiches short of a fucking picnic, man. We’re better off without him. Stronger. Smarter._ ”

 

Roman couldn’t recall ever wanting to hurt someone more than he had at that moment. But he managed to keep himself under control (if only just), tossing Seth out on his ass with a stern, “ _don’t come back unless you’re in serious trouble, got it?_ ”

 

Ever the strong, brave brother was Roman Reigns, one more thing on his shoulders.

 

...

 

Baron Corbin came roaring into the City That Showed No Mercy as the weather grew colder with all the subtlety of a brick through the front window of Royal Arrangements (and whoever had decided _that_ was a good idea sincerely needed their head checked, the last thing any sane person would want was one of Regal's boys after them. _Especially_ Pete!).

 

He was a big man with a bigger bike, tattoos that would make The Viper jealous and a rumored mean streak that ran deeper than the Underground. The fact that he arrived on a Friday (and Friday the thirteenth, no less) meant Roman wasn’t exactly able to devote any sort of attention to the fact that there was a new person in town.

 

He did _not_ expect the application slipped under the front door of the club sometime early Monday morning, reading and rereading the neat, slightly-cramped handwriting as he drank his coffee. _Prior experience looking/being threatening. Can't dance worth a damn but willing to learn if necessary._ He chuckled a little bit at the idea of _that_ guy tangling with the likes of Colin or Jericho on the stage. Just learning how flexible Big Colin Cassady was had surprised him, so it was an entertaining prospect. But no, he had more than enough talent on his hands at the moment what with people jumping ship from Hustle, and even a few office-workers-turned-dancers from when Del Rio Import And Export closed down.

 

_Could use another guy for the door, at least until the spring._ He mused to himself. _That way Kevin can have another day off. Be with Sami in the mornings_. Normally on Kevin’s days off Roman pulled door duty, and then on Sami’s days off Roman tended the bar. Having an extra body would let him get more paperwork done. Plus, if the guy had any sort of decent personality maybe he could offer him bar hours.

 

Baron was soft-spoken for being as large as he was. He didn’t twiddle his fingers or cross his arms, instead sitting as straight as possible in the chair across from Roman while he conducted the interview. For all intents and purposes he seemed like a shoe-in for the job, level-headed and able to take orders if he needed to.

 

“Sign here and you’re an official member of The Empire staff.” Roman watched as Baron’s face lit up and he felt… _something_ in his chest loosen the tiniest bit.

 

…

 

Kevin got along with Baron as well as Kevin got along with anyone, which was to say that Baron stayed out of Kevin’s way and Kevin hadn’t tried to eat him alive yet. Sami was still a little wary of people who weren’t Roman or Kevin, so Reigns didn’t expect much in the friendship department from him.

 

Baron was strangely respectful of all the talent Roman employed, both the regulars like Cass and Jericho as well as the part-timers like Perkins, Dawson and Dash. His answer when Roman quizzed him on it offered a little more insight on the quiet man.

 

“My mom used to do this. The dancing. She loved it, loved the attention. You always hear stories about people who get forced into this field as a last resort.” Baron stared down at his own hands. “It was the only thing she wanted to do, though. She said it made her feel powerful, bein’ up on the stage with guys all over her.” He gestured at the stage, where Big Cass and Roman's MC, Enzo, were running through their routine before the place opened for the night. “You aren’t forcing anyone to be here, man. Nobody’s beholden to you or any of that bullshit and everyone knows not to touch. It’s…refreshing.”

 

Roman shook his head, leaning back in his chair. The revenue paperwork could wait a minute or two. “I never wanted this place to be like that. I couldn’t handle that prostitution cover kind of club. People want that, they can go to Heyman’s place.” He knew he sounded more bitter than he ought to. “Folks come here when they’ve had a bad day. Folks go to Hustle when they want to forget who they fucking are.”

 

“Good on you, man.” Baron seemed wistful, tacking on a, “Wish my mom had worked here.” Roman knew that tone of voice. But Baron didn’t continue like most people would have. Instead he just got to his feet, straightening out his vest silently.

 

Roman could take a hint, returning to his paperwork. The numbers swam in front of his eyes though. Why the hell had he badmouthed another establishment in front of an employee? That was _juvenile_ shit, regardless of how justified it was. Roman groaned, rubbing his eyes and putting his forehead on the table. Just for a second...

 

_He should have known that working at Hustle was a bad fucking move. The place was_ _**crawling** _ _with the Family and Acolytes, all throwing their money away on the different fighting pits or the strippers and the outrageously-priced drinks. But he was out of options and the pay they promised was excellent. Not to mention the fact that_ _**everyone** _ _knew Paul Heyman had dealings with every seedy character in the entire Suplex City underbelly. If there was going to be someone who knew about Dean, it would be Heyman. Roman figured working there would enable him to finish financing his own dream, as well as give him the best chance he had at someone who could help him find Dean._

 

_Because of his intricate tattoo he was packaged as an ‘exotic attraction’, rare and expensive. He thanked his lucky stars that when he, Ambrose and Rollins were The Shield they'd had the foresight to cover up, since his arm piece was a dead goddamn giveaway. Roman remembered feeling disgusted with himself after the first night, his skin crawling every time someone approached his elaborate golden cage. The only thing that kept him from quitting on the spot was the promise of getting in good with Heyman. He had known what he was in for, but for some reason it seemed a hundred times worse when he was being leered at._

 

_Roman didn’t have to strip. Shit, he didn’t even have to fight that often. He knew he should be thankful, he was a hell of a lot safer than the scrawnier guys like Kendrick or Swann because he didn't look like an easy win. Years of rooftop running and strict workout regiments from Rollins had finally done him some good. But being marketed as an ‘exotic’ never failed to rub him the wrong way. Heyman was (allegedly, according to Cena) a little disappointed when he found out Roman wasn’t going to snarl and pace in his cage like a fucking wild animal._

 

“ _He wants you to act like a savage, man.” John Cena wasn’t a person known to be cruel, but he could be…more blunt than was comfortable. Roman wanted to punch him more often than he didn’t._

 

_Roman should have thrown in the towel right there, but he was stubborn. So goddamn stubborn. And then one morning, he got caught by Punk in Heyman’s office-_

 

“Boss? Hey, Reigns.” Someone was shaking his shoulder and Roman jerked upright.

 

“What! What, what is it?” he asked blearily.

 

Baron’s laugh washed over him. “Stimulating stuff, huh? I walk off and you take a nap. Put down the work for a little while, Reigns. Give your brain a breather. Cass has a question for you anyhow.”

 

…

 

The night Roman noticed The Viper in the club, Kevin was off. And as much as Roman wanted to jump down Baron’s throat for letting the psychopath into his establishment, he had a sneaking suspicion that The Viper hadn’t come in through the front door.

 

Roman felt that old, familiar panic squeeze the air out of his lungs as he bolted for his office behind the bar. _What do I do?_ He had hoped he would never see The Viper or The Beast ever again. He had stopped looking for Dean! He’d kept his end of the bargain! _Why_ would Heyman do this to him? The Empire wasn’t big enough to threaten Hustle in the slightest, this didn’t make any _sense!_

 

And now that guy, _The_ _Viper_ , was in the middle of his club. Innocent people were fucking _everywhere_ , it was like a playground for that maniac. It was going to be a bloodbath and Roman didn’t have the goddamn luxury of hiding in his office and waiting it out like the coward he was.

 

He had to _do_ something.

 

Roman squared his shoulders, opened the door again. The first burst of music and lights was always disorienting and he closed his eyes, like he had a thousand times before.

 

“Boss?”

 

Reigns jumped about a foot as Baron stared down at him, looking a bit confused. “J-Jesus Baron, warn a guy huh? What’s up?” Roman finally stammered, trying to look around the larger man to keep tabs on The Viper.

 

“You alright, Reigns? Not looking so good. You sick or something?” Baron asked worriedly. Roman wanted to ponder the concern in the voice of the other man, but he finally caught sight of The Viper again and it was like time slowed to a halt for him. Everything faded away and Roman was left in darkness with The Viper once more…

 

“ _I didn’t expect that an employee of mine would stoop so low.”_

 

_Coming back to consciousness after CM had kneed him in the face and stomach a few times was terrifying. Roman had no idea where he was. It sure as hell wasn’t Hustle. His nose felt like it was broken._

 

_Paul Heyman stood in front of him, his hands clasped behind his back. The smile on his face just made Roman even more nervous. “Snooping in my office, Reigns? Didn’t you learn_ _**anything** _ _from your stint as a play vigilante? Rollins was the only smart one in your bunch, I guess.”_

 

_Roman growled around the bandanna he’d been gagged with. Leave it to Heyman to lead him into some kind of trap. But shit, leave it to_ _**himself** _ _to walk into it like a bumbling idiot. An office left unlocked? With how paranoid Heyman was, that should have set bells and whistles off in Roman’s head._

 

_Two people were prowling in the shadows of the room they were in. Roman kept on catching glimpses out of the corner of his eye. It might have been Punk. If he was_ _**lucky** _ _one of them would be Punk. Heavy footsteps and then light, skittering ones. Paul was still rattling on and Roman took the opportunity to slowly test the security of his bonds._

 

_Either Heyman had Punk ready and waiting to knee him in the face again or they had_ _**severely** _ _underestimated Roman’s strength, because the ropes were already frayed._

 

_It wasn’t CM in the room. The soft hiss was Roman’s first clue and his blood ran cold._ _ **The**_ _**Viper**_ _._

 

“ _I brought a few people who you might remember. I know they remember you.” Paul’s chuckle was mirthless._

 

“I’m sorry. I have t-to--” Roman floundered, the panic setting in as he watched The Viper crane his head and scan the crowd bathed in flickering lights.

 

Baron followed his line of vision, eyes narrowing. “Who let him in here? He didn’t have an ID so I turned him away.” He growled, sounding annoyed.

 

“Him not having an ID is the _least_ of our problems. Guy can drop a room full of people. We need to be care…ful.” Baron had headed off before Roman finished speaking, the tall man easily making his way through the mass of patrons. “Wait, Baron!” Roman yelled, his voice lost in the pulsing music. He had no choice but to hurry after him, managing to grab his arm before he was spotted by The Viper.

 

“What, boss?” Roman could hardly hear Baron, resorting to yanking him even closer.

 

“You can’t! This guy will fucking kill you, Baron!”

 

“He shouldn’t be in here! _You_ obviously don’t want him in here, _I_ didn’t let him in here, so he’s going to fucking _leave!_ ” Corbin roared.

 

“Will you _think_ for a second?! This guy could seriously injure a lot of people if you upset him!” Roman refused to be intimidated, shouting right back. “Use your fucking _head_ , Baron!”

 

“You want me to use my head, Reigns? _Fine_.” Baron ripped his arm free of Roman like it was nothing, Reigns left grabbing at air as Baron cleared the distance between himself and The Viper _much_ too quickly. Corbin apparently caught The Viper off guard when he _slammed_ his forehead into the other man’s, flooring him easily. “ _What’d I say at the door, asshole?!_ ” Baron yelled.

 

Roman was flabbergasted. He’d never seen _anyone_ get the upper hand on the damn snake and yet here was Baron, kicking the guy in the ribs. _It has to be a trick_.

 

…

 

“Talk, fuckstick.”

 

Roman had called Kevin in, apologizing over and over in a shaky voice when he answered the phone. Now, Owens loomed over the back of the chair they had tied The Viper to. The man with the scarred and shaved head looked incredibly uncomfortable. He was sweating bullets and kept wriggling in his bonds every couple of seconds. Clearly, being caught was _not_ part of the plan tonight.

 

Corbin bared his teeth. “I said _talk_. You wanted in, you’re in. Better start talking, you piece of fucking garbage.”

 

The Viper cocked his head to the side, studying Baron. Roman flinched at the motion and a sick grin slowly spread across the snake's face. “He’s afraid of me…but you’re not.” His voice was soft. It always was. “Why? Is it because you don’t know any better?”

 

“ _I’ll_ ask the fucking questions, thank you.” Baron snarled. “Why are you fucking here? Start fucking talking before I start breaking your fingers.”

 

“You don’t scare me, _Baronnnn_.” The Viper hissed and Roman shuddered, his leg knocking into Baron’s. The taller man’s hand was abruptly on the back of Roman’s thigh, steadying the jitters of his body.

 

“That’s because you don’t fucking know better, _Viperrrrr_.” Baron mocked, giving Reigns’ leg one last pat before getting to his feet. “So I’m going to teach you to know better.”

 

The Viper narrowed his eyes, opening his mouth to retort and Corbin struck, wrenching his right index finger backwards with a quick, loud _snap!_ The Viper yelled, sounding more pissed off than in pain as he thrashed.

 

“Nine to go.” Baron rumbled, his hand already moving to the next digit. “Want to try again?”

 

“ _Wait!_ Please, wait, I’m no good to Him broken, he’ll kill me!” The Viper begged.

 

“All the fucking better.” Owens commented dryly.

 

“Who _fucking_ sent you?” Baron hovered over the other man’s fingers.

 

“It was the Family, the Family. They own me, they own everything. They wanted me to scout…H-Heyman said…” The Viper faltered as Roman’s whole body snapped to attention at the name. Reigns clenched his fists, feeling a cold sweat drench him.

 

_Dammit._

 

“What _about_ Heyman?” Owens pressed, shooting a worried look at Roman.

 

“He knows! Of course he knows, Roman knows _everything_ about Heyman!” The snake sounded hysterical. “Why don’t you ask him? Ask the one in the golden cage. Ask him how well he took his beating, ask him how hard he cried when Punk broke his nose and the Beast busted his head open on the concrete and I ripped his back apart! Ask him, ask him!” Crazed laughter exploded out of the bound man. “Ask him about the friend he fucking _abandoned_ to us, ask him about Ambrose! Ask him about how he tried and tried to find his _brother_ , while Rollins played hero up on the rooftops far away from us! Oh yeah, Roman knows _everything--!_ ”

 

Kevin’s arm wrapped around The Viper’s neck, finally stopping his manic rambling. Reigns only realized he was trembling when Baron squeezed his hip, _hard_. He felt sick to his stomach. “Are we done here?” Kevin asked, sounding bored. Owens was always simmering, but in an eerily calm way. It was like he was constantly thinking, forever planning his next move. Even with his arm cutting off the other man's air Roman could almost hear the gears turning.

 

Baron’s mouth curved into an unpleasant smile. “I think law enforcement should handle you from here, _Viper_.” The Viper wheezed for breath with Owens' arm pressed into his throat, eyes wide in horror. “Boss, how long does it take our fine officers to get here? Five minutes? Three?”

 

“I-I’ll go call them now, usually about three?” Roman replied weakly.

 

Baron cracked his knuckles.

 

The music out in the club muffled any noise The Viper might have made before Officers Breeze and Fandango arrived on the scene. Roman couldn’t make himself go back into his office before they escorted the snake out, instead sitting at the bar and nursing a glass of water. Sami left him alone for the most part after bringing him his water, seeming to realize that something was _very_ wrong. Roman felt numb, the beating he’d received at the hands of The Viper and The Beast years ago playing over and over in his mind like a shitty clip show.

 

Stupid him, believing Heyman when he’d said that would be it. He had thought he would be safe, he’d given his word that he wouldn’t ever return to the Underground and he’d stopped searching for Dean. He had cried and begged on that cold concrete floor at Heyman’s feet, pleaded just to know that Dean was alive even while The Beast battered his body with his fists. Roman didn’t care what The Viper did to him, what The Beast did to him as long as Ambrose was _alive_. Because if he knew for a fact that _somewhere_ down there Dean was still fighting, there was no way in _hell_ he’d stop trying to find him.

 

Paul hadn’t deigned to answer him, just standing there impassively with his hands clasped behind his back. Roman had finally shattered when The Viper had split his back open with the chair, resorting to pleading and bargaining for his own life before he finally lost consciousness. All the while his heart heavy with shame at how _weak_ he was. He woke up in a gutter a block away from The Empire, a pink slip stapled to the remains of his shirt. Aside from it being his official notice of termination from Hustle, Paul had taken the time to carefully write in, “ _remember our agreement, Roman_.”

 

William Regal was the one who helped Reigns stumble back to The Empire, the older man easily hefting him upright without so much as a ‘by your leave’. “ _Do I need to call the authorities?_ ” He’d asked quietly, voice a little more clipped than usual. At Roman’s frantic head shake he’d sighed. “ _I must open up for the morning, but I’ll send young Tyler over to check on you. If you need_ _ **anything**_ _, Reigns, let us know. You’re a good fellow. I hate to see you like this_.” Roman remembered clinging to Regal, his eyes burning with tears that he couldn’t shed. What would William think if he knew that Roman had traded Dean’s life for his own? Some strong, brave brother he was, some fucking friend.

 

A hand latched onto his arm, startling Roman out of the looping nightmare, and then someone was hauling him off his barstool, almost knocking him over with the force of the motion. Roman raised his fists, milleseconds from swinging before he realized who it was that had moved him. “Christ, Baron.” The relief he felt was short-lived as he took in how ripshit the larger man looked.

 

“You wanna’ explain to me what the fuck is going on here, boss?” Corbin snapped. “Because I’m feeling like I might be the only one in the fucking dark!”

 

Roman scrubbed his hands over his face. “It’s nothing.” He said finally.

 

“Like hell it is!” Baron grabbed his arm _hard_ , fingers digging into the tattooed skin. “You’re coming with me, and you’re telling me _exactly_ what’s going on here. And if you don’t, I’m fucking gone!”

 

“I told you it’s nothing! Let me go!” Roman strained against Baron’s hold as the other man forcibly walked him to his office. Roman balked at the sight of the chair, the bits of rope still tied to it making him shudder.

 

“I’m warning you, Reigns.” Baron grunted. “You keep lying to me, I’ll zip the fuck up and head out.”

 

“I am the authority in this goddamn building, Corbin! I should fucking fire you for putting your hands on me, never mind the fact that you directly disobeyed an order!” Roman snarled back, struggling in Baron’s grip. All the other man did was cinch his arms tighter. “Let me _go_ , dammit!”

 

“ _Listen to me_. You were obviously scared stiff, so cut the tough guy bullshit. I don’t know what he did to make _you_ scared.” Baron’s voice dropped even lower. “I _wasn’t_ about to let him hurt you. _Or_ anyone else, got it?”

 

Roman felt a little of the fight ooze out of him, his shoulders drooping. “I-I had to…I couldn't...” His voice failed him, dissolving into nothing.

 

Baron sighed heavily, Roman feeling the motion of his chest expanding against his back. “I don’t need to know. I get it, okay? It’s none of my fucking business anyways.” He said finally. “You’re safe. Your club is safe for the time being. I’m sorry I got carried away. The way you were acting made me nervous and I kind of just...lashed out.” Baron apologized, attempting to let Roman go.

 

But Reigns hugged his arms tightly, just for a second. “Thank you, Baron.” He swallowed thickly, not sure why he felt like he needed to cry all of a sudden.

 

Baron made a noise in his throat, one hand moving up to pat Roman on the top of his head like he was a small child. “Shh, you’re okay. Don’t fucking thank me for doing my job, man. I’m here to keep this place and everyone in it safe. Owens would have done exactly the same thing.” He paused for a second. “You can thank me by not firing me, and also maybe helping me figure out how that weirdo got in here, okay boss?”

 

“Fuck, my paperwork.” Roman groaned, knocking his head back against Baron's chest. He had expected Corbin to release him once he'd let go of his arms, but he was pleasantly surprised when the taller man didn't.

 

Baron rested his chin easily on Reigns' head, arms still tight around him. “Nope. We need to secure our perimeter, man. Keep your patrons safe. Owens can hold down the fort. He knows to get Jericho if he needs backup.”

 

“I can't just--”

 

“You can, and you will. We have a responsibility. The quicker we get this sorted out, the quicker we can get you back to your precious paperwork.”

 

The huge hand prints in the dust on the floor of the basement were more than enough to send Roman right back into a panic. _The trapdoor_. Once bolted and padlocked down securely, the wood and metal now laid in a tangled pile of scrap, with more prints around the gaping opening. At least The Beast hadn’t come any further than there.

 

“Fuck is this shit? Look at these marks.” Baron said, sounding almost excited. “You guys got Ninja Turtles in your sewers or something?”

 

“No, just fucking nightmares. We need to fix this. The sooner the better.” Roman replied, already making a list in his head of the things he would need. “Nakamura isn’t open this late, otherwise I’d just head over to Strong Style and grab a sheet of boilerplate. I should have known the lock wouldn’t be enough, _fuck_.”

 

“Well if you’ve got some scrap lumber around I can probably rig something up for the night.” Baron offered.

 

Roman scrubbed his hands over his face again. Christ, he was exhausted. “I need to get some coffee into me. You’ll probably need some too. I’ll have to stand watch down here for the night, make sure nothing-”

 

Baron waved him off. “Nah man, I think I can handle this. Coffee and power equipment are a hell of a combo, but I’ll make it work.”

 

…

 

Acolytes in his back room two days after The Beast was in his basement.

 

Roman felt like the universe _might_ be against him and he’d had it up to _here_ with the harassment, letting out his old Shield battle cry and tackling one of the robed figures. Roman put a little heart behind his attack and ended up launching himself and the Acolyte through the back door, rolling down the steps and crashing to a halt in the alley behind The Empire. The Acolyte flailed wildly beneath him as the other three scrambled after them and Roman bolted to his feet. He knew how they fought, knives and fists an often-lethal combination.

 

But they all took off running, fleeing the scene. Roman saw red. “Oh no you don’t, assholes!” He yelled, sprinting after them. It wasn’t hard to guess their destination, but seeing as how he’d given his word that he wouldn’t go to the Underground ever again Roman had to catch at least _one_ of them if he wanted to get anything rectified.

 

He heard Sheamus’ booming voice right before he rounded the corner behind the Brogue Kick, the older man swearing in Gaelic. Roman skidded to a stop after he saw the Acolytes leap the fence at the far end of the alley, bending over and trying to catch his breath. “You guys see 'em go by? _Christ_.” He gasped out.

 

“Yeah Reigns, but they're probably halfway to the Casket by now. There was a _group_ of 'em, you dumb shit. You know better than to try and take those guys on. Too many knives.” Dean scolded. A smaller individual sat next to Ambrose, busily stuffing their face full of colcannon. Roman felt like they might be one of the people that sometimes turned up behind The Empire begging for food.

 

“Motherfuckers were in my back room. They trashed the place. I lost my cool.” Roman shot Sheamus a pleading look as he fought to get his hair back out of his face. O'Shaunessy seemed concerned, glancing at Dean.

 

“I ain't kicked an ass in a while.” Dean mused, not appearing to notice the fourth member of their party slipping off the steps and back into the shadows of the alley. “I ain't been to the Casket since before the Underground, though. Probably shouldn't go back.”

 

Reigns felt guilty for even putting the idea in Ambrose's head when he saw the way Dean's whole body shivered momentarily, the way Sheamus quickly grabbed the other man's hand. “Ah, never mind guys. You're right, Dean. Bad move, trying to take on a group of them. Especially in territory they're familiar with.” Roman quickly backtracked.

 

“I agree with Reigns, Ambrose. S' no good.” Sheamus mouthed _thank you_ to Roman as Dean slowly nodded. “I am sorry abou' the damage done, Reigns. We can help tidy up, if ya' need more hands?”

 

“It was only a couple of bottles, I should be okay. Thanks.” Roman winced. “I may have done more damage to the door throwing one of them out than four of them did getting in.” He bid them farewell and slowly made his way back to The Empire, fighting to get a handle on his temper for most of the walk. It was almost time to start getting ready for the night so he unlocked the front door and stepped inside. A loud voice met his ears and light streamed from the back room into the main area of the club.

 

“ _\--fuck he is, Kevin it looks like a fucking bomb went off in here! I don’t know…the back door is all fucked up, I already checked the basement--_ “

 

Roman leaned against the doorway of the room, that odd feeling in his chest back as he watched Baron rant into the phone and pace. The stupidity of what he’d done finally caught up to him and Reigns cringed. He could be seriously injured or dead in a gutter somewhere for all anyone knew, one didn’t normally _pursue_ Acolytes. He cleared his throat and Baron looked up, unceremoniously ending his call with a curt, “ _never mind, he’s here_.”

 

“There were Acolytes.” Roman began, feeling like he _might_ be in trouble. The door to the outside was hanging by one hinge, a few bottles broken on the floor. It looked like there had been a struggle, like someone had gotten dragged off. He hadn’t really thought about it, too upset with the idea of being fucked over for the second time in less than a week.

 

“You went after them _by_ _yourself?_ ”

 

Oh yeah, he was _definitely_ in trouble. Roman nodded slowly. Baron exhaled a long, irritated growl of breath. “How the _hell_ have you lasted this long, man?”

 

“I just got so fucking pissed off. Wasn’t thinking straight but…I’m tired of being a fucking pushover, tired of being scared that some asshole is going to set his man-beasts on me.” Roman shrugged. He knew it sounded flippant and he was waiting for Baron to accuse him of lying again.

 

Baron shook his head after a minute, jerking on the bottom of his leather vest to straighten it out. “I…just _wait_ for someone next time, boss. Damn near gave Owens a heart attack. We weren’t sure what happened to you. Think about how pissed off he or Zayn would be if you got fucking stabbed or some shit.” He said gruffly.

 

“What about you?” Roman didn’t know why the hell he’d even asked. The words hung awkwardly between them and he wished he could take them back.

 

_Especially_ when Baron replied nonchalantly, “You’re the guy who signs my checks, obviously I’d be a little upset, boss.”

 

…

 

Thanksgiving Eve found most of the neighborhood at the Brogue Kick Saloon, playing pool and enjoying a cold drink with a piping hot bowl of colcannon or _soup deej or_. The gutter kid that Ambrose and Sheamus had taken in looked much healthier than the last time Roman had seen them, that was for sure. Their face wasn’t quite so pinched and they actually _smiled_ up at Baron and Roman when the two men entered from the street with Big Cass in tow.

 

Roman found a lot of Sheamus’ advice invaluable when it came to The Empire. This was his first real business venture, after all, so any and all input he could get was good in his book.

 

Dean hauled him in to whack their foreheads together while Sheamus was occupied with pouring Regal’s lone glass of stout. “M’ proud of you, big bro.” Ambrose said quietly. “Doing fine over there. Your dad would be fuckin’ stoked if he could see you.”

 

Reigns hadn’t _planned_ on hiding in the bathroom for damn near half an hour trying to get his emotions back under control, but life was strange that way. Every time he looked up and caught sight of himself in the mirror everything went to pieces inside him. He never knew his mother and his memories of his father faded with every passing day, but he and his father had the same eyes, the same laugh.

 

“ _Roman, my son Roman! Strong as he is brave, and brave as he is strong!_ ” His father used to jokingly announce him when he came to his hospital room after school, laughing in between coughing fits when Roman would launch himself at the bed to hug him and rattle on about what he'd learned that day.

 

The mirror reminded Roman of everything he'd lost and he _hated_ it, clenching his fists on either side of the sink as his whole body fought the urge to just curl up and cry for hours. He tried not to get into states like this. It was too dangerous, he had _way_ too much at stake to be able to break down whenever shit got too heavy for brave, strong Roman _fucking_ Reigns.

 

Sami was the one who ended up finding him, the bearded man not saying anything before he wrapped Roman in a hug. Reigns couldn’t help the pathetic heave of his shoulders as he cried, the way his fingers dug into Zayn’s shirt.

 

“Oh shit, is this a moment or…?” Baron’s voice interrupted Sami quietly murmuring to Roman. He sounded awkward. “I mean, I can leave if it is. My bad, guys, I’ll just-”

 

“Will you shut the fuck up and get over here, _Christ_.” Sami grumbled in annoyance. “He needs us, Baron.”

 

It was barely a second before another set of arms settled heavily around Roman’s waist, Corbin wiggling into the hug more than a little clumsily. “I don’t really do hugs.” Baron grunted. “What the fuck happened?”

 

“I dunno’. Walked in on him like this. He was gone for a little while, figured I’d find him.” Sami replied quietly over Reigns’ head. “Also Kevin is cheating at pool.”

 

“We were _both_ cheating, you twit.” Owens snapped, making Roman flinch. When had Kevin gotten there?! “You guys better have a great explanation for why you’re having a grabass festival without me, _especially_ with my damn husband.” A hand fondly rumpled Roman’s neatly-ponytailed hair. “Motherfucker.”

 

“Th-thank you, guys.” Roman finally croaked out. “You're so fucking good to me, shit.”

 

“We care about you, Roman.” Sami said gently. “You gave me a second chance at life, gave so many people security and peace of mind when Del Rio closed up shop. You even took in Styles when he jumped ship from Hustle, and that was _dangerous_ considering you know as well as I do how much of a breadwinner he was for Heyman.”

 

“It's alright, man.” Owens' voice was much softer than Roman was used to. “You don't have to be the Big Dog all the time. You're allowed a day off.”

 

Roman just shook his head and hugged them all a little tighter.

 

…

 

Before Roman knew it the time had come to have their annual holiday celebration. He had offered The Empire as the location this year, their neighborhood revel getting a little too large in number for Sheamus's Saloon to contain.

 

He was kept busy running back and forth with Regal and Pete in tow as they discussed decorations for The Empire and took notes. Little sketches began to clutter Roman’s desk instead of his usual paperwork, how centerpieces should look and where the garlands would be. The Brogue Kick volunteered to take care of the food, and Sheamus had given Roman and Sami some _great_ ideas for toddy add-ons ( _why hadn’t Roman thought of spiked cherries before?!_ ).

 

With all the planning going on Roman didn’t have a spare second _ever_ , so when a timid knock rapped against his office door early on the morning of the party he was perplexed. Trent and Pete weren’t due to come by until at least eight and it was barely six now. He opened the door, stifling a yawn as he did. “Oh! Baron, ‘sup?”

 

Corbin looked nervous, which might have woken Roman up a bit more if he hadn’t been so damn tired. “Reigns…boss, I uh…I mean, stop me if this is a little forward, but everyone's been working really hard and shit and I-I was wondering if there was any way I could maybe be more help? I mean, I don’t do much during the day except tinker with my bike, and there’s only so much tinkering to be done. I…I don’t feel like I’m farm--shit, _earning_ my keep, y’know?”

 

Roman blinked up at him, confused. What the heck had he been about to say? _Farming_ his keep? That shit didn't make sense even to Roman's exhausted mind. “You want to work _more?_ ”

 

“You have a lot of the other guys doing stuff during the day too, I just figured…”

 

“Sami and Owens have been my friends for a while, Corbin. I wouldn’t be able to stop them from helping me even if I wanted to.” Roman said wryly. “Styles thinks he has to get in my good graces or some shit, I think. Either that or he's got the hots for Jericho. Maybe both.”

 

Baron chuckled, seeming to relax somewhat. “Well, keep me in mind. I know Cass probably has the 'reaching high stuff' category covered, but if he needs a breather, I could be your guy, boss.”

 

After Roman dozed off on his pile of forms out in the main room for the third time and woke up with Pete's heavy, fur-lined jacket draped over his shoulders he finally decided that maybe... _maybe_ the paperwork could wait until after the party. Regal's boys hardly needed supervision. Jericho was doing an excellent job of directing them, all the while leafing through Roman's sketches pinned to his worn-looking clipboard. AJ hovered by Chris's shoulder, offering input and beaming when Jericho praised him. Roman got the feeling that he may have his hands full when it came to those two, vaguely recalling that Styles had been a _bit_ of a pain in the ass during his time at Hustle.

 

Sheamus had Ambrose and their gutter kid (apparently dubbed Mite) running back and forth across the street delivering the food, so that was taken care of. Sami was all over the bar, speaking in excited bursts with Kevin about the plans he had for the evening beverages. Corbin had been placated for the moment with helping Regal and Trent cart over the decorations.

 

All in all, it was shaping up to be an excellent evening.

 

Old Mick made his usual entrance. Fashionably early, clad in a full Santa suit and lugging his familiar, massive pot of spaghetti and meatballs. John and Nikki managed to stop by for a few minutes before they opened Hustle that evening, offering warm wishes and an ornate fruit basket to the staff of The Empire (courtesy of Mr. Paul Heyman, of course).

 

Roman crumpled up the card on the basket after he read the brief message. ' _Well played, Reigns._ ' He wasn't sure what the hell _that_ was supposed to mean, whether Heyman was pissed about AJ or The Viper, or if it was just more cryptic bullshit. Quite frankly Roman couldn't bring himself to give a tenth of a shit. Tonight was a night for _celebration_.

 

Even Mr. Helmsley and his wife Stephanie made an eventual appearance, surprising the hell out of _everyone_. They didn't normally leave the high rise district to play with the riff-raff, but apparently Irwin Schyster had made it abundantly clear that he wasn't missing 'The Empire Holiday Revue'. Roman liked the sound of the elaborate title, but he was far more pleased with the way Hunter and Stephanie _looked_ at everything.

 

Stephanie seemed ready to jump out of her skin, watching Santa-Mick make his jolly rounds with narrowed eyes. That is, until Sami slid a fresh toddy garnished with a lemon wedge across the bar and offered her a soft, “ _how are you tonight, ma'am?_ ” Few people could resist the charm of Sami Zayn.

 

Hunter went straight to Ambrose, slapping him on the back and asking him how he was, “ _still working at that dump, huh kid?_ ” Helmsley was a ruthless businessman but that was as far as he reached, reportedly having turned down numerous collaborations with Heyman. Though the old Kliq Club going out of business _may_ have been helped along by a few bad deals on the side of The Triple H Corporation. Roman never understood why Hunter hadn't tried to buy him out on the property, but he figured he should probably just count his blessings and leave it at that.

 

Cass, Jericho and Styles had a special couple of things planned for the night, and it was a _hell_ of a show. Apparently Regal's boys had been practicing with them in secret. Roman whooped as loud as everyone else when 'young' Tyler performed a strongman act that was _flawless_ , the final cartoonish flex of his muscles and twirl of his well-kept mustache more than enough to light the place up. The wink he threw to Stephanie Helmsley certainly didn't hurt. Pete and Trent were a hit as well, ending their own short routine with an impressive (but not indecent) amount of clothing gone. Pete even got to keep his jacket! Roman looked to where Regal was sitting, a little worried that the older man might be upset with his employees. But William looked like he was thoroughly enjoying himself, a smile quirking the scar on his lip.

 

Roman wasn't sure when the goddamn _Phenom_ , Undertaker himself had showed up at his club, he just knew that at one point he turned around and saw Sami chatting amiably with the large, black-cloaked figure. Granted, Christmas Eve and Day were usually considered truce days among The Family and The Acolytes, but Roman would prefer if the monsters kept to their realms. His preferences apparently fell on deaf ears. Demon Balor nodded cordially to him from a shadowy corner far from the muted lights of the stage, eyes glowing unnaturally. Beside him sat none other than the masked Empress Of Tomorrow, her flowing robe immaculate.

 

Roman had the sneaking suspicion that perhaps the boilerplate might need to be replaced after tonight's party. His suspicions were confirmed when Baron sidled up to him and muttered, “ _basement_.” Sure enough, the thick metal had been removed so forcibly that it was embedded in the ceiling. No huge hand prints though, thank fuck, just a scorch mark in the middle of it. _Undertaker_.

 

Reigns sighed and took another sip of his drink. “Fuck it. It'll wait until tomorrow.” He said finally. “Nothing will happen tonight.”

 

“Are you sure?” Baron's concern was touching and Roman was a _little_ too drunk for that, especially since Baron had made it abundantly clear that all Roman was to him was a check-signer.

 

“Do you really think _they_ wandered in through the front door?” Roman retorted. “Owens would never let them in without a fight and they know that. It's too late now, Baron. What we get to do now is leave their preferred door open and hope that jolly old Saint fucking Mankind can work his magic to keep things mellow.”

 

“Shit man, I don't know how you do it.” Baron admitted after a moment of silence. “I feel like I'm walking on eggshells up there and you're just sliding around, dealing with legends and shit.”

 

“I _grew_ _up_ here, Baron. You get used to it. The fucking mystique wears off and you're left with the tarnished bullshit of worn-out tricks and maybe, _maybe_ , a few legitimate monsters.” Roman tipped his glass towards the other man. “Liquid courage helps.”

 

“I guess fucking so.” Baron grinned at him, all white teeth and eyes crinkling at the edges and _fuck_ , Roman was so fucked if he didn't get his ass back upstairs and away from him. He swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry. Baron looked nervous again, his back straight and whole body tight. “Hey uh, boss? Can I ask something?” He mumbled, focusing on his hands.

 

_Oh no_ . Roman felt his heart start to thunder in his chest. _Oh no, oh no_ . “Yeah, what's up?” His brain was apparently still on the ' _pretend everything is fine_ ' setting.

 

“D-do you...uh, does The Empire have a policy on relationships? I mean, Zayn and Owens are married and stuff, so they would be exempt, but you didn't seem too upset about Styles going after Jericho. I'm just...I need to know.” Baron's face hardened at the end of his ramble and he crossed his arms.

 

“Oh.” Roman said weakly, his heart screaming _not me, not me, I'm the guy who signs his checks, remember?_ “I don't...I m-mean, there's no official policy in place, Corbin. I expect professionalism, and who you do is kind of your own business, you know? I uh...you and Big Cass, huh? That's cool, man. I'm happy for you.” Roman managed to force the trite phrase out before he lost his nerve completely.

 

Baron's shoulders slumped. He seemed _disappointed_ for some reason that Reigns couldn't wrap his mind around. “I...I'd better get back outside. Gotta' keep the place safe. S'what I'm here for, right?” His tone was bitter and Roman's drunk brain remembered that he'd been outside in the cold for most of the evening.

 

“Hey wait, take a break, eat. Get a drink from Sami before you go. Warm up.” He insisted, unable to stop his hand before he laid it on Baron's arm. “Did you have any of Mick's spaghetti? He says it's seasoned with hunger, that's why it always tastes so good.” Roman had no idea why he was still talking. Corbin _obviously_ had shit to go do _(like Cass_ his mind supplied helpfully). “Sorry, I uh. Sorry. Head up there and. Um. Food.” He apologized, flushing and removing his hand.

 

Baron fixed him with a look that had Roman squirming, and not exactly in discomfort. “Reigns,” Baron began, then muttered, _“Shit,_ just forget about it.”

 

Baron was halfway up the fucking stairs when Reigns' drunk ass decided to react. “Forget about _what_ , Corbin?” He shouted louder than he meant to, making Baron freeze.

 

“I fucked up.” The taller man answered quietly. “Please just...never mind. Go back to the party, Reigns.”

 

_Just forget about it_ . Roman ended up sleeping in the cellar, curled up next to the gaping hole in the floor. And if he cried, well, he was _very_ drunk so that made it alright. Brave and strong Roman Reigns. _Just forget about it_.

 

He woke up with an aching head and a shiny new boilerplate hatch over the hole. A black and purple bow was stuck to the top of it and Roman couldn't help the raw laugh that he let out. _Merry Christmas to me_.

 

…

 

January and February passed in their usual gray, slushy blur. Come March, Baron dragged out his bike and started prepping for his eventual departure. He didn't really _talk_ to Roman anymore, not like how he had before the holiday party. Always brief, polite. Very much the employee, no longer the friend.

 

It hurt, but Roman understood. He hoped that Cass and Baron had some sort of system worked out, maybe a long distance relationship via Skype. Either that or it had just been about the sex. They didn't really act couple-y, so Roman wasn't too sure. And it _really_ wasn't any of his business, so he sure as hell wasn't about to ask.

 

The knock came in the wee hours of the morning, waking Reigns up from his usual pile of liquor orders and electric bills. “Come in.” He groaned, not bothering to raise his head from the desk.

 

“Boss, I'm leaving.” Roman watched dully out of the corner of his eye as Baron's legs shifted his weight back and forth. “Weather's finally good. I can make decent miles.” Baron cleared his throat. “I uh. Thank you. For taking me on.”

 

“No problem.” Roman replied, still not moving his head as he pulled open one of the drawers in his desk. “Here, s'last check. For gas. Food.” He waved the envelope in the air.

 

“Boss...”

 

“Don't fucking ' _boss_ ' me, Corbin. You pretty much single-handedly got The Viper behind bars, which is no damn small feat. If only for that, okay?” Roman shut his eyes as a large hand closed around his own, Baron removing the envelope after a second too long. “You've been a big help around here, man. I know Cass will miss you. Sure there's no way I can get you to stay?” Roman finally looked up, false cheer dying as he saw the stony look on Corbin's face.

 

Baron turned to leave. “It wasn't fucking _Cass_.” He grumbled.

 

“Well it sure as shit wasn't me either.” Roman had no idea where the hell _that_ came from, flinching when Corbin whipped back around.

 

“The fuck did you just say, Reigns?” Baron's voice was deadly low.

 

“I-I...” Roman hated his fucking _stammer_ , the way his voice died on him. He was trying so _hard_ just to keep it together and he didn't need this shit. _Ever the brave, strong Roman Reigns_ he thought bitterly.

 

“Shows how much _you_ fucking know, I guess.” Corbin slapped the envelope back onto Roman's desk, planting his fists on the wood to pin it there. “Dammit Reigns, why the hell do you have to make this so fucking _difficult?_ ”

 

“Difficult?” Roman was thoroughly confused once again. _I thought I was making this shit easier_.

 

Baron glared at him for a few breathless seconds and then growled in frustration, “ _Forget it!_ ”, threw his hands up and left.

 

…

 

The old fairgrounds housed nothing but an overabundance of memories for Roman. Before his father had gotten so sick, they would visit sometimes, to ride on The Spinnarooni. Roman only just recalled poking his nose over the edge of the Ferris wheel cab for the first time, the way his stomach had dropped to his shoes when he saw how high up he was. But his father was there to tuck Roman's face into his side, laughing and calling him brave beyond his years. “ _So much courage in your heart, my son!_ ”

 

It hadn't felt like courage in quite a while. It felt like a damn _rock_ . It felt like The Beast's fists and it felt like guilt and it felt like _just forget it_.

 

Roman kicked a pebble over the edge of the crumpling cement jetty at the far end of the fairgrounds, watching as it sank out of sight beneath the trash-choked water. Summer made the ground waver in the heat and Roman wondered for a crazy second if trying to become a mirage was easier than dealing with his dumb, _courageous_ heart. If it was so full of courage why the hell did it falter at every little thing?

 

Soft footsteps alerted him to Mite's approach before they drew up alongside him, a hand taking his own and tugging him back from the frail side of the jetty. “Don't worry, it's not deep enough here.” Roman tried for a joke but it sounded a lot more grim when he said it out loud. Mite shook their head and frowned, pointing in the other direction. Towards the city. They still weren't much for talking but Reigns could guess. _Go home, Roman_. “Why?” He asked. “It isn't like Kevin and Sami can't handle The Empire without me.”

 

Mite's face somehow got even _more_ stern. _Go **home** , Roman _. He finally relented, letting himself be mobilized to return to reality. Getting lost in the past wasn't exactly doing him any favors, after all.

 

The motorcycle parked outside The Empire stopped Roman dead, and Mite patted his hand comfortingly. Then, before Roman could even react they fucking _bolted_ , abandoning him to stand slack-jawed in the road for another minute or two.

 

_He came back_.

 

That courageous heart of Roman's was weary and bruised but not shattered yet, slamming against his ribs as he circled around back. He almost bumped Corbin's chest when the taller man rounded the corner. “Reigns, thank fuck.” Baron pushed a small, rectangular parcel into Roman's hands, then grabbed his jaw gracelessly and kissed him _hard_ . “Forgive me, for fuck's sake _please_ forgive me.” Corbin begged, pressing their foreheads together. “I'm an ass. I'm the biggest fucking dickhead. I hurt you and all I had to do was fucking _talk_ to you, I'm so fucking--”

 

“Wait, wait.” Roman panted, still a little out of breath from the kiss and _oh my God, he came back_. “Are you staying?”

 

Baron nodded furiously.

 

The space in the upper area of The Empire was mostly for storage purposes, but Roman had cordoned off a small section for his bed and a single chair. It was here that he sat to open the parcel, Baron pacing nervously while he did. It was a stack of postcards, five of them. Roman's brow furrowed and he flipped the first one ( _Kansas_ ) over.

 

_I'm an idiot. I'm an idiot and the worst part is **knowing** I'm an idiot. I'm an idiot for leaving. I'm an idiot for hurting you. I'm an idiot for writing this shit out on my spare postcards but I don't have any real paper. I'm an idiot for writing this shit out like you're going to read it, like you'll even give me the time of fucking day. You don't have a mean bone in your body, but you giving me a chance is the last thing I deserve. _

 

Florida came next and the lump in Roman's throat grew.

 

_I didn't realize how hard it was for you. I didn't understand until that night with that **motherfucker** , that Viper guy. He was fucking ranting and you just started shuddering all over your body. I don't know if you even knew you were doing it. You looked like you were going to pass out. The shit that guy said made me want to kill him, how he talked about hurting you like it was a thing to be proud of. Normally I've got a pretty decent hold on myself, but the way you reacted...I lost my cool in the worst way and I'm so sorry. I don't really do hugs, I'm not good at them. _

 

Roman put the postcards down for a second, huffing in a breath to try and calm himself. He had nightmares about that night sometimes, about what would have happened if Baron Corbin hadn't cracked his stubborn head into The Viper's without a thought for his own safety.

 

Georgia was next in the pile but Corbin tipped his chin up, searching Roman's eyes. “Are you alright?” He asked quietly, one hand cupping the back of Roman's neck. Careful, so careful.

 

“Not really, no.” Reigns admitted shakily. “I'm supposed to be brave and strong, Baron. But it gets really damn hard and _God_ , I'm fucking tired.”

 

“Can I help?” Fingers moved down the skin of Roman's arm, following the zigzags of his traditional tattoo. “Let me help.”

 

“I don't know if you can, Baron. If you leave again, I don't-”

 

“I'm _never_ leaving again.” Baron insisted.

 

“Yeah? Convince me.” Roman growled. “Because as _I_ recall, when you left last time not even the guy who signed your checks could get you to stay.”

 

“I know. But I didn't come back for that guy.” Baron's eyes softened. “I came back for the busted-up guy with the badass sleeve of ink and the heart of fucking gold. I came back because I'm an asshole and I missed you.”

 

_I missed you_.

 

“When you told me to forget it...”

 

“I'm bad at shit. I'll get better at shit.” Baron kissed Roman's forehead. “I promise you that.”

 

Roman felt his resolve crumpling, hands already pitifully tangled in the fabric of Baron's tight shirt. “I missed you too.”

 

“Christ, I hoped you would.” Baron murmured. “I'm so damn sorry, Roman.”

 

“I don't know what to do, Corbin.” Reigns confessed helplessly after letting himself be held for a few minutes. “Everything is just so heavy all the time, I don't know how to handle it anymore.” It was both terrifying and a relief to say out loud. “I used to be so damn strong, Baron. Nothing could phase me.”

 

“You're _still_ strong. Guilt and grief fucking cheat when you're having good days and it makes them feel a thousand times heavier on your bad days. Let me take care of you.” Baron pressed Roman to lay down on his back, the taller man smiling at him. “You don't need to be strong here. You can just be you. It's alright.”

 

Roman covered his face, groaning, “ _Fuck_ , I want to believe your bullshit.”

 

“S'not bullshit.” Baron lifted the hem of Reigns' t-shirt and pressed a kiss to his stomach. “How can I convince you? Pet names? Flowers and chocolates? Help with the paperwork? How about a ride on the Lone Wolf?”

 

Roman peeked out suspiciously from in-between his fingers. “Is that a euphemism or did you seriously _name_ your motorcycle?”

 

Baron hummed. “Might be both. You'll have to wait and see.” Roman's laugh felt rusty but _good_ , especially when Baron joined in. Roman tugged at Baron's shirt and the other man quickly stripped his vest and shirt off for him. It had always been easier when Roman didn't have to ask with his words. Baron seemed to understand that, smoothing the hair back from Roman's face. “Christ, Roman, I'm so sorry.” He murmured. Roman fumbled out of his shirt and Baron sucked in a breath, large hands greedily mapping out the new area with single-minded purpose. “Fucking shit, _Reigns_.” Fingers ran over the scarred patch on his side where Roman had been burned on the hunt for Dean. “I'll keep you safe from now on. Nobody will ever do this to you again.”

 

Roman wanted to believe him, and that might have been the scariest thing of all. Corbin made him feel safe, like he was actually _worth_ protecting. It _should_ hurt because Roman was still guilty, but Baron was being so careful. The couple of times Roman had hooked up with other men had been lackluster. He'd wanted it to hurt. Not because he _liked_ it, but because it _should_ , it was what he deserved and what he was familiar with. People were willing and so was he, who cared if he didn't get off on it? Roman knew it was the only thing he had earned and while he wasn't _happy_ he was pretty fucking resigned to it.

 

As Baron unbuckled his pants and dragged his boxers down Roman tried to relax. This was the hard part, the part when Baron would shatter all the pretty words he'd said about no one ever hurting him again. Roman knew all the ways to move to make it seem like it was good, like he was enjoying himself, “ _I'm just not hard because it's an off night_.” The sooner this part was over with, the sooner Baron could get back to saying kind, gentle things to him and hopefully not leaving again because he was disappointed.

 

Reigns didn't realize he'd closed his eyes until he heard Corbin asking him to open them. He obeyed, feeling a weight settle on his thigh as he did. Corbin was in between his legs, cheek resting on Roman's thigh. Roman's cock was barely half-hard, obviously not on board with the plan and Baron seemed perturbed. “Reigns, if you don't want to do this we don't...I mean, I did kind of just blow in here so I-”

 

“No I do! I do!” Roman said quickly, too quickly, propping himself up on his elbows. _It's an off night for me_.

 

Baron's eyes narrowed. Normally, people were really invested in getting Roman to flip over onto his belly so they could give him what he asked for. Baron, however, was _really_ invested in sucking Roman's dick. Which shot all of Roman's plans out of the water. That didn't _hurt_ and Roman didn't really know what to do with himself because _Christ_ , Corbin was _good at that_ but he didn't deserve it and also Baron was _teasing_ . Corbin seemed perfectly content to do nothing but kitten lick Roman's cock until the sun came back up, fingertips barely brushing the base. Roman found himself getting _legitimately_ hard and he threw an arm over his eyes, hopelessly turned on and at total war with his guilt.

 

“Look at me, Roman.” Corbin ordered for the second time that evening. “I don't know why the hell you're letting me do this if you're not planning on enjoying it.”

 

“I can't, s-shouldn't.” Roman hated how his voice was already cracking.

 

“You're _allowed_ to enjoy shit, Reigns.” Baron reprimanded him gently. “I can be strong tonight, okay? It's your night off. It's not wrong to like what I'm doing to you. It's not _bad_ to like what I'm doing to you.”

 

“But I--”

 

“ _No_ buts. I want you coming and screaming my name at some point before sun up. Other than that, I think I'm pretty flexible.” Baron shrugged. “Until you believe me. Until you're comfortable. I don't care how long it takes. Because you deserve it, okay?”

 

Roman felt the weight in his chest finally ease and he was pretty sure he almost broke Baron's nose with his pelvis when he rolled forwards to hug him tightly. “Fuck, I missed you so much.”

 

“I've thought about doing this to you so many damn times, taking you apart and making you fucking _shake_ in my lap.” Baron said fiercely, like he was trying to convince Roman. His fingers closed around Roman's cock for the first time and Roman keened into Baron's shoulder, hips arching up of their own accord. “Fucking _touch_ me already, Reigns. I know you want to.” Baron begged. “Let me help, dammit, be fucking weak and greedy for me. I've got you.”

 

Roman flushed (he didn't know _why_ , Baron's hand was on his _cock_ for fuck's sake) and Baron made a helpless noise of want, rubbing his groin against Roman's thick thigh. When Reigns finally reached out his hand and shakily touched Baron's chest it was like he couldn't stop, yanking Corbin even closer and burying his face in the other man's neck. Corbin's excited sounds spurred Roman on more than he wanted to admit, his hands growing bolder by the second as Baron praised him quietly, reminded him that this wasn't wrong.

 

Baron's tattoos were fascinatingly vibrant where Roman's were monochrome, and Reigns found himself with his palm firmly planted on the taller man's inked heart, fingers digging into the skin hard enough to make Corbin grin at him. “Shit, shit, wait.” Baron finally panted, tugging Roman's other hand away from his zipper. “I can't yet, gotta' calm down.”

 

“But I--” Baron's kiss cut Roman off and Reigns growled into the taller man's mouth as he came all over his fist. Roman sank his teeth into Corbin's lower lip and the other man groaned embarrassingly loud.

 

“ _Fuck_ , I'm going to love this.” Baron licked his fingers criminally slow, seeming intent on getting every last drop. “M' gonna' open you up, make you beg for me.”

 

Roman expected it to hurt _now_ but Baron made good on his word, taking his damn time as he prepared Roman's body for him. Thick fingers sloppy with lube stretched him, slowly one after the other and Roman found himself hard and leaking again by the time Baron was _finally_ satisfied, the taller man allowing Roman the privilege of peeling his tight pants down his thighs. The tattoos continued on the skin there and Roman dimly noticed the one that said ' _Farm Your Keep_ ' in flowing script above Baron's knee.

 

Baron urged Roman up over him, hand gripping the base of the condom firmly after he slid it down over his cock. “I want to watch you. Take as much as you want, but let's just say I _really_ hope you're interested in more than one round.” His knowing smirk bordered on _insufferable_.

 

Roman _felt_ greedy and weak, his entrance over-slick and aching for what Baron had promised hotly in his ear while he crooked his fingers inside him. Baron had been patient, much more patient than Roman believed he needed to be. He wouldn't _break_ for fuck's sake. Hadn't yet.

 

Baron's sound when Roman finally slid the head of his cock past his entrance was _amazing_ , a low, heartfelt groan that threatened to make Roman come on the spot. Reigns being on top allowed him to decide _exactly_ when Baron would get more or less of him and the power was dangerously heady. He ended up with his hands covering the swallows on Baron's chest, bracing his body weight easily as he carefully lowered himself down.

 

Corbin's hands cupped Roman's jaw, thumbs rubbing over the other man's facial hair. “You ever done it like this before?” Baron asked through clenched teeth, his smirk popping back up when Roman shook his head. “Always from behind, right? Hurts less that way, they don't have to see your face and you don't have to see theirs.” Baron was apparently a goddamn _mind_ _reader_.

 

“Y-Yeah.” Roman stammered, finally coming to a stop. He sucked in a shaky breath, trying to force his body to adjust quicker to the intrusion.

 

But Baron was having none of it, a hand firmly gripping Roman's thigh to keep him from moving. “When you're _ready_ , Reigns. Feels good to me no matter what, so when _you're_ ready.” Corbin reassured him quietly, pressing a kiss to his temple. “I'm not going anywhere.”

 

“You'd better not.” Roman choked out. “I'll fucking hunt you down if you do and sign your face with my fist.”

 

Corbin ran his fingers over Reigns' inked arm, a smile softening his features. “That's fair, especially with how I left. _Christ_ , I missed you so much. Wanted you like this from the first time I saw you on door duty at your own _fucking_ club. You're handsome enough to be inside on stage and yet here you were owning the damn building, wrinkling your beautiful face worrying, working your fingers to the bone on forms and shit.” Roman ducked his head a little self-consciously but Corbin caught his chin. “Nope, eyes up.” Baron murmured. “Be greedy. Be weak for me.”

 

“I'm trying. It's...” Roman trailed off, rocking his hips back and forth against Baron's. Corbin's cock dragged over his spot suddenly and Roman's body stiffened. _Oh-!_ Beneath him, Corbin let out a fucking _growling_ noise that made Roman shudder, Baron's hand moving to press to the continuation of ink on Roman's chest. “Baron, _fuck_ .” Reigns finally sobbed, unable to keep quiet anymore when gentle fingers soothed his messy hair back from his face. “Fuck, Baron, _fuck_.” He felt dumb but his brain couldn't figure out anything else to say as Baron rolled his hips up hungrily. “I'm trying, I promise, j-just--”

 

“Shh, you're fine.” Corbin grinned at him, making the worry in Roman's stomach ease off a bit. “Jesus _Christ_ , you are _so_ damn fine. Look at you go, I'm gonna' make you come so hard.” Baron tugged a spare elastic off his wrist and then proceeded to quickly rake Roman's dark locks back into a haphazard ponytail. “Wanna' see you when you do, want to watch your face.”

 

“God, _please_ \--” Roman's prayers were answered when Corbin wrapped his hand back around his cock. “ _Oh!_ Fuck, _Corbin!_ ” The moan felt like it was ripped out of him but it was _so_ damn good, so right.

 

“That's the idea, yeah.” Baron grunted, winking when Reigns tried to give him a stern look. “Don't even bother, man. I can feel you getting all tight around me so it's a lost damn cause.”

 

“Are you close?” Roman panted, closing his eyes as Baron nodded jerkily and quickened his hand on Roman's dick. “Never come while someone else was fucking me.” His groin ached with the closeness of his orgasm, Roman ducking his head so he could touch his forehead to Baron's. It had _never_ been like this before. Reigns felt _hot_ and _good_ all over his body, his heart seemingly trying to beat its way out of his chest.

 

“Their fucking loss.” Baron snarled through his teeth. “You deserved so much better.”

 

“Shit, I hope so.”

 

“I _know_ so.” Baron cupped the back of his neck, kissed him hard and that was all it took. Roman cried out when he came again, his hands balling into fists on Baron's chest as he shuddered and rocked his hips weakly. “Fuck's sake, _Reigns_ \--” Baron dug his fingers into the skin of Roman's hips, thrusting up into him fiercely and off-tempo before finally coming to a stop with a loud, satisfied moan.

 

_Now he leaves_. Roman didn't want the thought but was gone as quickly as it arrived because Baron almost immediately dragged him down to lay on his chest, fingers stroking carefully over Roman's hair. Reigns closed his eyes, relaxing into the other man's grip against his better judgment.

 

“It's only about a thousand degrees up here, huh?” Baron whispered after several silent minutes had gone by. “I mean, I figured I would work up a sweat anyway, but _shit_.”

 

Roman swatted him on the ribs, making the taller man yelp. “You deserve to suffer in the hell garret for the shit you pulled.” Roman scolded, reaching over to turn on the air conditioner.

 

Baron smiled good-naturedly, crossing his arms behind his head. “Very true. How many more times should we bang, do you think, before you forgive me?”

 

“Depends on whether you'll leave after you get me to forgive you.” Roman fidgeted with the slick mess on his stomach, reaching for his t-shirt to wipe it off. But Baron caught his hand.

 

“I'm not leaving if you don't want me to, Reigns.”

 

“Yeah, sure.”

 

“Hey, hey.” Baron's voice dropped a little when Roman teared up. “Shit, don't do that. I'm so ugly when I cry. If you start, _I'm_ gonna' start, and it's just going to be a fucking nightmare. Buck up, Reigns, you're stuck with my ass.”

 

“Really?” Roman asked.

 

Baron nodded, brown eyes crinkling at the edges when he smiled again. “You're getting the worse end of the deal here, man, but I'm willing to swap off if you get me a little drunk beforehand.” Baron's offer made Reigns snort in a somewhat-undignified manner.

 

He knocked his forehead against Baron's a little harder than before, to let him know he was serious. “Never again, got it?” He meant for it to sound firmer, like an order.

 

Baron seemed to understand though. “Yeah, I got it. I promise.”

 

_I promise_.

 


End file.
